Lethe
by Leaper
Summary: Dave Karofsky has disappeared from the minds of everyone who knew him - everyone except the one person who has perhaps the least reason to help him. Now Dave and Blaine must figure out the hows and whys... If they don't kill each other first. Takes place after "Saturday Night Glee-ver."
1. Forgetting

**AN: Okay, this is rather insane. A while back, I was looking over some Tumblr posts written by fans of Dave Karofsky, complaining about the, uh, statement by Brad Falchuk, and about how the character had been forgotten by both writers and characters in general. Somehow, even after all the other times I've read posts like that since late season 2, that brought up this idea out of thin air.**

**I have no idea when I'm going to continue this; I have two other WIPs on my plate right now (apologies to the readers of those; I _am_ making progress). Thus, updates to this may be... slow, ****_at best_****, for the foreseeable future. However, I figured out the source of the story's crisis, and I'm kinda pleased at what I came up with. So I think I'll probably finish this. Eventually. It just might be pretty slow. ****You have been warned. Either way, I felt like I needed to at least get started to "force" me to see it through sometime.**  


**Oh, and you are also warned: while I will do my best to not draw any heavy-handed parallels between these fictional and certain RL events mentioned above, I can't guarantee that none will slip by. :)**

Blaine knew it was shaping up to be a bad day when he was actually _relieved_ to wake up with the dull, throbbing ache in his skull. At least it wasn't the full-blown close-to-tears agony he'd experienced the day previous. He still had no idea where the migraine had come from - dehydration? Stress over his junior year at a new school? The emotional roller coaster he'd been sharing with Kurt over his efforts to get into NYADA? Whatever it was, it had apparently subsided into something at least tolerable. He counted himself lucky he'd even been able to get to sleep the night before.

By the time he was washed and dressed and breakfasted, he was feeling a hundred times better. The contrast between yesterday and today alone was enough to make him feel like a million dollars. He strode into McKinley with confidence and a wide smile. Kurt was standing near his locker, retrieving his books for his first class (French, followed by World History, then by Chemistry... he, of course, had it all memorized). There were still wisps of tension in his face, which was understandable, given everything he'd gone through already for NYADA. And it still wasn't over - the toughest part was yet to come. Though Kurt tried to hide it, Blaine could tell the stress was taking its toll.

Well, anything he could to do take Kurt's mind off the suspense, if even for a little while, he'd do. That's what boyfriends - what friends - were for.

Indeed, as he approached, the way Kurt's face lit up when their eyes met sent warmth through his chest. They shared a gentle kiss.

"Good morning," Kurt purred. "How's your head?"

"Much better, thanks." He rubbed Kurt's arm. "What about you? How're you doing?"

"Holding up. Classes are keeping me busy. I have to study for exams, and then there's still..." He shook his head, sighing.

"I know, I know... C'mon, Kurt, think positive. They'd be fools not to accept you."

His boyfriend smiled wanly. "Thanks. But you have to admit you're biased. All that matters is what _they_ think." He sighed again. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough..."

Blaine shook his head with a smile. "You underestimate how talented you are, Kurt. And not only are you a great performer, you're a great person, too. You're smart, funny, brave..."

"Stop that!" Kurt said with a laugh. "You're making me blush!"

"And you're the most compassionate person I know. What you've done for Karofsky is far beyond anything I would've ever done..."

"Who?"

Blaine looked up with a smile, about to say something like "yeah, there are times when I'd rather forget about him too," but stopped cold. The look on Kurt's face... it was genuine puzzlement. He honestly didn't seem to recognize the name. Had he pronounced it wrong? That was impossible; he'd certainly said it, and heard it from Kurt, enough times over the past year.

"Karofsky," he said carefully, just in case. "Dave Karofsky."

"I... still don't know who that is."

"Come on, Kurt, quit joking around," he said with a laugh that struck even his ears as a little too nervous, a little too high pitched. His heart was beginning to pound.

"I'm not, Blaine. Was he a Warbler? Because I don't recall the..."

"David Karofsky, Kurt! The boy who drove you out of McKinley!"

"That was Azimio Adams. Are you sure you're okay, Blaine? Maybe your headache..."

"No!" Blaine cried. Kurt flinched, but he didn't even notice. His head was starting to ache again, only with a very different feeling. This was more like pressure, as though the air had become unbearably heavy, and was starting to press - to crush - his skull flat. "_David Karofsky_! He tried to kill himself last month..."

"That's terrible! If he's a friend of yours, we should visit..."

"He was prom king last year!"

"Finn was prom king, Blaine. Are you sure..."

"Yes!" His scream drew a few curious glances from passing students. "He...!" His voice dropped to a hiss. "He _kissed_ you, Kurt! Your first kiss with a boy! How could you possibly forget that?"

"Blaine..." Kurt's brow was furrowed in worry. He gently touched Blaine's cheek. "_You_ were my first kiss. I've told you that over and over. Look, maybe you should lie down... Why don't I take you to the nurse, and..."

"Hey, guys, what's going on?"

"Finn!" Blaine cried, his hand darting out and latching onto Finn's arm with a speed that startled both the other boys. "Thank God! Finn, you remember David Karofsky, right?"

"Who?"

The pressure felt like it was bulging the eyes out of Blaine's head. "He was on the football team with you!"

"Dude, I don't remember anyone with that name on the team..."

"What about all the times he harassed Kurt..."

"What?!" Finn whirled around to his stepbrother. "I thought you said you'd tell us if you had trouble with anyone else!"

"I know! And I meant it! I have no idea who Blaine is talking about!"

Blaine felt himself choking on nothing; it was as though his throat was closing on its own. He looked to Kurt - his concern, with a tinge of fear - to Finn - his utter confusion - and the conclusion was inescapable. "You really don't have any idea... do you?"

"Blaine..." Kurt's voice was gentle, coaxing. "You had a rough day yesterday. Why don't you take it easy? I can drive you home and..."

"No!" Kurt recoiled at the force of the word; Blaine almost did so himself. But he knew - he _knew_, down to his very bones - that the last thing he wanted to do was take it easy. In the next instant, he found himself barreling down the hallway, shoving people out of his way by his stride alone.

"Blaine!" He heard Kurt, he really did - but it was from a distance, as though he were shouting from across a vast field. Easy to ignore.

Blaine did the only thing he could do - the only thing his mind would allow him to do.

He ran.

* * *

Once seated at the Lima Bean (he had no idea how he managed to give his order to the barista in the state his mind was in - it must've been automatic somehow), Blaine began to calm down, and started to think rationally again. Or at least as rationally as he could in this insane situation.

Could Kurt and Finn have been lying? Could he be the butt of some kind of massive practical joke? No - they had no reason to do something so cruel to him. Besides, what would be the point of using _Karofsky_ as the center of the gag? Furthermore, he went to his phone (the same phone Kurt had called and texted at least five times since he left school; Blaine couldn't bear to read, let alone answer) and looked online for any sign of Dave Karofsky, knowing there were mentions of him out there - as a member of the championship McKinley Titan football team, as the victim of harassment that drove him to attempt suicide, on Facebook, for God's sake; how could anyone escape the tentacles of Facebook?

He found nothing.

Could it be him? Could he, Blaine Anderson, be the crazy one here? Had he somehow dreamed or made up this guy in the haze of his migraine? No - that would be even more insane than the apparent situation. He knew Dave Karofsky existed. The confrontation at McKinley, the threats that drove Kurt to Dalton, the prom, the suicide attempt - _he remembered._ It was almost startling, realizing the impact the guy had had on his life, even indirectly.

And... that was it. The two most rational explanations he could think of, and he'd firmly dismissed them both.

He had to figure this out. He had to _know_. Karofsky still wasn't his favorite person, but this wasn't about just him... This was about Blaine Anderson too, if only for the memories he still held, as clear as an IMAX film in his head.

He went back to his phone, and reduced his Google search to the terms "Karofsky Lima Ohio." Several results for a Paul Karofsky popped up, usually in the context of law. _Paul..._ He was _pretty_ sure Kurt had mentioned that as Dave's father's name once... He thought. He hoped. It was about the only lead he had. He looked over the entries more closely. One - thank God for online carelessness - was a directory listing showing his address.

Blaine was halfway expecting the house to be empty and abandoned - or worse, a vacant lot - by the time he arrived. But no, it was a perfectly normal looking multistory suburban house. Taking a deep breath, Blaine walked up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Nothing. He pushed again and waited. Still nothing.

He frowned. Mr. Karofsky would obviously be at work, but he'd heard David was being homeschooled or something of that sort. If he weren't there...

God, what if...?

"Hi, can I help...?" Blaine whirled. A beefy teenager was jogging up the walk, dressed in a McKinley football t-shirt and shorts, his face streaked with dried sweat. "Anderson?"

"Karofsky!" He leaped forward, ready to _hug_ the guy, despite their history and his sweaty state. Only Dave's panicked look and jump back stopped him. "Thank God! You're actually _here_! I mean... you exist! You..."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down! What the fuck is the matter? You look like you just went ten rounds with Beiste."

"It's..." Blaine ran his fingers through his hair. "It's crazy... I don't know what's going on..."

"Hey." Blaine looked up. To his surprise, Karofsky actually looked concerned. He wondered if he was acting _that_ irrationally. Even if so, it was certainly more than Blaine had expected from him, for a multitude of reasons. He would've pondered the meaning of that more if he hadn't been in such a state. "You okay?"

"I..." Blaine let out a breath. "No. I... am definitely _not_ okay."

"Why don't you come on in?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I should do that."

The two entered the house. Dave beckoned Blaine up the stairs. At the end of the hall was a second short flight; Dave jogged up them and opened the door at the top of that. Even from his angle, Blaine could see the blue wallpaper, the desk, a sliver of a bed... Dave's room. _Is that where he...? _Again, Blaine had to actively shake the thought out of his head.

"I'm just gonna change clothes. Be out in a sec."

As the door shut behind him, Blaine slumped against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor. Exhaustion flooded through his bones, and some semblance of rationality was starting to return. What could he possibly tell Karofsky now? He'd sound just as insane to Karofsky as he must have to Kurt and Finn - perhaps even more so, since it was clear to them both that Karofsky was _there_ and _existed_.

Maybe if he brought Karofsky down to McKinley, showed him to Kurt and Finn... But no. Blaine had a cold suspicion of how they'd react. He could almost hear Kurt's voice say, "I'm sorry, Blaine, I've never seen this person before in my life."

Blaine nearly literally jumped when the door flew open again. Karofsky emerged dressed in normal street clothes, wiping his face off with a towel. He tossed the towel over his shoulder into his room (Blaine couldn't help but frown at that a little) and shut the door. "Okay, mind telling me what this is all about?"

Blaine took a deep breath; he still hadn't decided how to say... whatever the hell it was that he was going to say. "This is going to sound crazy..."

"Dude, no offense, but I don't think anything you can say will sound as crazy as the way you're acting right now. I mean, the fact that you're even talking to me..."

He had a point. Maybe if he just _said_ it, before he lost his nerve, it would at least be out there, and he could deal with Karofsky's reaction as it came. "All right... It's like this... Y-you..."

That, of course, was the moment they heard the front door creak open downstairs. A set of heavy footsteps clopped into the house. Dave turned, his attention now totally off Blaine, whose mouth was still hanging open, still ready to say the words, "don't seem to exist."

"Huh, that must be Dad. He's home early. Up here, Dad!" He raised his voice to a bellow for the last sentence, in a roar that nearly knocked Blaine backwards.

"Jack? That you?" The footsteps and new voice were getting closer; they were coming up the stairs. "What are you doing home?"

"No, Dad, it's Dave. I just got in from my jog, and..."

It was only then that Blaine's mind snapped out of his stupor, and the fear crept back in again. _Oh, God... What if...?_

A man came into view, tall and burly, with a beard and mustache shot through with white. He wore business attire and a curious look on his face. "Dave...?" He stopped dead still at the sight of the two. Blaine's stomach did flip-flops as the curious look turned swiftly into one of anger. "Who the hell are you two? What are you doing in my house?"

"Dad...?" The look on Karofsky's face was still neutral, despite the puzzled tone in his voice; it was as though his mind hadn't yet fully processed the words just spoken to him. Blaine couldn't blame him for that either.

"Why are you calling me that? You're not my son!" The anger was now melting away, being replaced by something even more awful: fear. Blaine tried to look at it from Paul Karofsky's new point of view: two young men, one just as large as he, broke into his house, with him all alone and apparently (thankfully) unarmed... Terrible crimes have started with much less. "Look... I don't want any trouble. Just... just take whatever you want and go."

"Dad, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I have money." Paul Karofsky took his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it at Blaine's feet. "We have some silver downstairs. There doesn't have to be any trouble."

"Dad, stop kidding around. It's me. David."

"I... I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Paul said gently. It was getting clear to Blaine that he thought that they were high on some kind of drugs and probably unstable, breaking into his home for money for another fix. "I'm not your father, young man. I only have one son, and he's away at college in California."

"Th-this is nuts!" Karofsky burst out, a sentiment that Blaine completely agreed with. "I'm your son! Dave! I _live_ here!" He grabbed the knob to the door behind him. "This is my bedroom!" He shoved the door open with much more force than was necessary. "Look, I-!" Then he turned, and all the color drained from his face. From the way Blaine's knees felt, his must have done the same.

The room - the same room that Blaine himself had seen painted and furnished just minutes before - was now... just an attic. Bare walls, sheet-covered boxes. Dusty. Cobwebbed. Unlived in.

"What the hell...?" Karofsky's voice was low, whispered, hoarse.

"I won't call the police," Paul continued. "Just... just think about this. Don't do anything you'll regret. Look." He began to back away, into the open door of a bathroom. "I won't get in your way."

"Dad...?" The same hoarse voice.

"We should go," Blaine said, his shaking hand grabbing Karofsky's arm.

He shook the grip off. "Fuck that! This is my house!" He turned to his father pleadingly. "Dad...!"

"We _need_ to go," Blaine repeated.

"Listen to your friend," Paul said in a voice that sounded much like the one Blaine would use in confronting a strange, snarling stray dog on the street. "Take my wallet. There's fifty dollars in there, and..."

"Dad!" The word was a shriek, and Blaine was almost startled to see Karofsky's eyes starting to water. "Dad, please...!"

Blaine knew an opportunity when he saw one. He grabbed Karofsky's arm again and propelled him towards the stairs. The larger teen could easily have resisted (Blaine still sometimes wondered what would've happened had he and Karofsky come to blows either on that McKinley staircase or in the halls before the Night of Neglect - sure, he boxed, but the size and strength difference was not insignificant), but rarity of rarities, there was no strength in Dave Karofsky at the moment. It was as though he'd shrunk two sizes just in the past minute. As Blaine forcefully guided Karofsky towards the front door, he vaguely heard the muffled voice of Paul Karofsky above them, saying something along the lines of "report a break-in."

Then they were out in the sunshine. Then they were in Blaine's car, somehow; Blaine couldn't remember getting in - hell, he wasn't even sure if he had the mental dexterity to use keys. Then they were driving. Somewhere. Blaine didn't know where. Just... away. Away from that house. Away from the disappearing room and the lack of recognition.

When Blaine came back to himself, he found himself in the parking lot of a small park where he and Kurt sometimes met up for walks. He killed the engine and turned towards the passenger seat. Karofsky was sitting there (unbuckled, the back of his mind noted - the rest of his mind ignored this), staring out the windshield, his eyes glassy. Blaine had to squint, and listen hard, to tell that the other teen was even breathing.

For a long minute, Karofsky stared - at what? Nothing, probably. Blaine watched. Then, out of nowhere, a loud sob wrenched out of Karofsky's chest. Blaine had no doubt it wasn't born of any particular thought or emotion: just the overwhelming rush of confusion and terror that had to be expressed _somehow_, lest it explode (Blaine had more experience with that kind of thing than he cared to admit, even to himself).

Karofsky buried his face in his hands, his weeping low and muffled. Blaine reached out; his hand trembled, then pulled back a little. Finally, it fell upon Karofsky's shoulder, tightening into a firm grip. Karofsky didn't seem to feel it, but then, he didn't have to. It was as much for Blaine as it was for him.

After all, it reminded them both that Dave Karofsky was actually real.

**Worth continuing? As I said, I like the origin I came up with, but there's lots to do between there and here!**

**PS: Brad Falchuk apparently assumes that fanon makes satisfactory endings. He needs to be corrected.**


	2. Memory Aid

Blaine waited patiently for Karofsky to get a hold of himself. He passed the time reading the increasingly worried messages Kurt was leaving on his phone. He sighed; he couldn't leave him hanging like that. If nothing else, Kurt might go out looking for him, which could cause all sorts of complications. So he tapped out a response:

_You were right, I wasn't feeling well. I went home. I'm sorry I didn't reply earlier; I've been sleeping. Talk to you soon! *smooch*  
_

There. Hopefully that would satisfy him until Blaine could figure out... this. Whatever _this_ was.

It was already late afternoon; between the lingering aftereffects of the headache and the insanity of it all, it had taken longer than he'd thought for him to get a hold of himself after what had happened at school. He glanced over at the passenger seat; Karofsky was wiping his nose on his sleeve, sniffling. The despair and panic were gone; now he just looked drained, almost tired. He slumped in his seat, looking over to Blaine. "What the fuck is going on?" he asked hoarsely.

Blaine shook his head. "I don't know."

"My dad... The way he acted, it was he really didn't... And my room...! I'm not crazy, you saw that too, right?"

"Yeah. I did."

"It's impossible! There's no way this could be happening!"

"Well, now you know how I felt." Blaine realized as the words left his lips that they were unfair, especially since he was just a bystander; Karofsky was actually _living_ the nightmare. But he couldn't bring himself to care very much.

Fortunately, Karofsky didn't seem to notice. "If this is some kind of fucking practical joke, you know that you're a dead man."

"Seriously, Karofsky?" Blaine snapped, even though he knew full well that Karofsky really didn't believe it was a joke; he was just a drowning man desperately grasping any flimsy handhold of sanity he could find. Blaine knew this because he'd already been through it — was still going through it. That didn't stop his temper, though. "Conspiring with your _Dad_ to play an incredibly cruel and elaborate practical joke on you. Oh! Maybe I brought in _Harry Potter_ to magic your room in less than two minutes! Brilliant!"

"Well, what the fuck else could it be?" Karofsky said, his jaw set. "Because there's no way _my dad_ would..."

"Well, he _did_!" Even through his anger, Blaine realized that went way too far the instant he said it. Seeing Dave's face fall only made it worse. "Shit..." he began, "I'm sorry, I..."

"He really didn't remember me," Dave whispered. "I know my dad, even if he doesn't know me, and he... He really had no idea who I was." His eyes snapped up. "Maybe he was brainwashed! Maybe he was drugged or something, and..."

"Then whoever it was must've drugged Kurt and Finn too. Oh, and erased you from the Internet." Blaine waved his phone in Karofsky's face; he had no idea why. "You done anything to warrant a massive government conspiracy, Karofsky? Bad enough to get them to break out the X-Files technology that could change a room in a matter of seconds?"

"Stop fucking around with me," Karofsky snarled.

"You think I'm fucking around with you? Can _you_ think of any rational explanation for what's happening to you, what you've seen? Because I've been trying to think of one all afternoon, so if you have an idea, I'd _love_ to hear it." Only silence answered. "I thought not. If we're going to figure this out..."

"'We'?" Karofsky sneered, trying to puff his chest in a pitifully obvious attempt to regain some high ground. Not that Blaine didn't understand why (anyone in this position would be desperate to get some equilibrium, some iota of belief that life still made sense, no matter how fleeting), but it didn't piss him off any less. "I would've thought you'd be the first one to root for me to disappear forever."

"Believe me, I don't appreciate being dragged against my will into one of your messes _again_. But since I seem to be the only one who remembers you, I'm a part of this too. I don't like it — I _really_ don't like it — but if I just ignore this, I'll always wonder if I just went crazy or something. I have to figure this out... for my own sake."

"And making sure I exist is just an unfortunate side effect, huh?"

"You know, you could _try_ to not be such an asshole to the guy who wants to help you," Blaine growled.

"No, you don't _want_ to help me; you just made that perfectly clear, remember? You're doing this for yourself."

"And why the hell not? What the fuck have you ever done to deserve my consideration? Or anyone else's, for that matter?"

Suddenly, Karofsky's face was just inches from his, eyes bright, as he hissed the one word Blaine didn't expect in reply. "Nothing!" He sat back again, shaking his head. "I know that, okay? I know I'm a fucking fat, closeted, bullying coward who takes out his anger issues on other people. But I'm _trying_ to make up for it! I know it'll never be enough, but that's not going to stop me from trying! I just... I just need a chance!"

"Oh, will you stop trying to play the martyr? It looks ridiculous on you."

Karofsky threw up his hands. "It's called taking some fucking responsibility! If I don't, I'm a monster. If I do, I'm a martyr. I can't fucking win with you, can I?"

"Maybe if you demonstrated something other than misdirected rage..."

"Maybe if you gave me a fucking chance to..."

Blaine held up a hand as the other rubbed at his eyes. "Okay, just... just hold up." He took a deep, calming breath; it worked more than he thought it would. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We're obviously both under a lot of stress, and it's not going to do us any good to just yell at each other all day. What matters is that we figure out what's going on, why no one remembers you, and why I seem to be the only one who does."

Karofsky exhaled. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right... Sorry."

"Let's... just keep our eyes on the prize, all right?" Blaine sighed. "First things first: we're obviously not going to figure this out on our own. We're completely out to sea here, and I don't think either of us has any idea where to even begin."

Karofsky nodded. "But... who could help? I mean, besides maybe my therapist, just in case we are both insane..."

"If you're insane, then that means you actually don't exist," Blaine pointed out with a wry grin.

Dave laughed. It was a warm, rumbling sound, one Blaine had never heard before. He hadn't thought the guy capable of anything but anger and despair. Seeing even a flash of humor, of lightheartedness, was kind of startling. "You got a point. Or as Kurt would say, _touche_." Blaine couldn't help frowning; hearing Kurt's name coming from Dave Karofsky wasn't something he found particularly pleasant. But Karofsky didn't seem to notice his reaction, because he continued. "Seriously, though, this is weird stuff. I mean, if we're not crazy, and it's not a joke, and it's not a big government conspiracy or something, what the fuck is left?"

"Supernatural forces." There it was: the words he was afraid to say, or even think. He felt utterly ridiculous just forming them in his head, never mind speaking them out loud. But circumstances, as they had in the past, had driven him into a corner that he couldn't get out of any other way except direct confrontation. But if that phrase was difficult, the next single word was even harder; he almost swallowed it even has he spoke it. "Magic."

"Dude, you actually believe in that kind of stuff?"

"Like I said, if you have a better explanation, I'd love to hear it." Blaine ran his fingers through his hair; they became sticky with flakes of dried gel. "Maybe I'd still think it was some kind of elaborate hoax or conspiracy if it weren't for what happened to your room. That... that wasn't physically possible. What else is there besides... magic?"

Karofsky shook his head in something approaching wonder. "Fuck me... Magic..." He seemed to consider it for a moment, but quickly spoke up again, as if trying to argue them both out of it. "But if magic really existed, wouldn't we know about it by now? I mean, people would be summoning demons and turning their exes into cats every day or something."

"How the fuck would I know? Maybe it's a lot harder than TV and movies tell us it is. Or maybe they use it to make _sure_ we don't notice it. Beats the hell out of me; I'm not a wizard."

"But even if... magic... did this to me, how'd it happen? Was it random? Or did someone do this to me on purpose? Who'd do a thing like that?"

"Well, it's not like you're short on enemies." It came out a little (okay, a _lot_) more sardonic than he'd intended. But to his surprise (and it wouldn't be the last time Dave Karofsky would surprise him before this was all over), the only reaction he got was a small nod.

"Yeah... I definitely made a lot of 'em, didn't I? Some I made while I was in the closet, some I made when I came out. But the ones I made before are probably too nice to do this. Besides, they're your friends too, so they wouldn't get you involved." Blaine was about to say something to that, but pressed his lips firmly together, letting Karofsky continue. "And the ones I made after aren't smart enough to do fucking _magic_." His brows furrowed; he regarded Blaine with an odd look.

"What?"

"_You're_ smart enough, though. You're the only one not affected by all this, and you've got a pretty damn good motive to make me disappear."

Blaine groaned. Despite halfway expecting this since the two first met up, he still found himself personally offended. "Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I come to you and reveal myself I was involved? Why would I be helping you?"

"To keep an eye on me, and to gloat behind my back? Besides, you haven't done anything to help me _yet_. Just yell at me."

"Only because you...!" Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose. _Getting angry won't help. Getting angry won't help. Getting angry is what Karofsky does. _Not _you._ It took a long moment before he trusted himself to speak. "Okay. I'll admit you have a point." The words seemed to surprise them both to some extent. "If I were you, I'd probably be thinking the same thing. We certainly don't trust each other enough to think otherwise."

"You've got that right," Karofsky snorted.

"I'll tell you right now: I had nothing to do with this. You may not believe me, but I don't see that you have much of a choice. If we're going to figure this out, we're going to have to trust someone. And it might as well be each other." He looked at Karofsky; the other teenager seemed lost in a way that Blaine didn't think possible. Oh, he'd heard about Kurt's visit to his hospital room, but what he was told didn't jive at all with the ogre he knew (or, perhaps, built up in his mind, to be perfectly fair — it wasn't like the two had all that much personal interaction, which was one big reason why _this_, now, was so difficult). This, though... This was starting to change his mind, just a little. Or at least make him consider his preconceived notions a little more carefully. "It looks like you'll be a stranger to anyone else you try to talk to. And because of that, they'll think that I'm a lunatic too if I try. We're alone in this boat, Karofsky, so we're gonna survive together, or we're both going down with the ship."

Karofsky's forehead furrowed in thought (_don't strain yourself too much_, Blaine thought uncharitably), as if trying to find a hole in the logic. After a few moments, his shoulders sagged. He sighed audibly. "Yeah. You're right. Dammit."

"My sentiments exactly. Now, back to someone who can help us..."

"Again, do you know anyone, anyone at all, who could possibly know anything about freaky magic shit? Because I sure don't."

"No, I don't think... Wait. Maybe..."

* * *

"Hey, Tina."

Tina Cohen-Chang frowned, one hand akimbo at her side, the other resting on the edge of her front door. "Uh, hi, Blaine..." She glanced over his shoulder at Karofsky, framed in the initial wispy fingers of oncoming dusk, then returned her gaze to Blaine. "What's up?"

"We need to talk. You're the only person I can think of who might be able to help us."

"Sure... But I thought Kurt said you went home because of your headache."

"I lied. Look, I'll explain everything, but can we come in?"

"I guess..." She stepped aside as Blaine and Karofsky entered the house, shutting the door behind them. "Are you gonna at least introduce me to your friend?"

Karofsky twitched; Blaine didn't _think_ he did as well, but if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised. "This is Karo— uh, Dave. He's sort of the reason we're here." It was only then he noticed a pair of adult heads turned around over the nearby couch, the TV in front of them declaring "D, final answer."

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen-Chang," Blaine said with a friendly wave. He turned back to Tina. "Could we talk in private?"

Her brow still furrowed in confusion, Tina nodded slowly. "Okay." She led them down a hall to a door tied in yellow crime scene tape. She opened it to reveal... well, his literary side would've called it a "den of iniquity." He'd never known Tina when she was full out Goth (or at least Goth enough for the principal of McKinley to think she was a vampire — what the hell that was all about he still had no idea), before Mr. Schuester gently asked her to "tone down" her "unique style" to better blend in with the rest of New Directions. (Kurt still held a small grudge against the man for this; it had something to do with Dalton, another thing Blaine only half understood.) But here was a reminder of where her heart lay.

On the walls, between black posters of bands dressed in equally black clothing, hung various medieval weapons and torture instruments, including two pairs of rusted iron manacles (Blaine couldn't help but remember seeing Mike rub his wrists on more than one Monday morning; he quickly repressed the memory with a shudder). Tina's bed was, of course, dressed and trimmed in black sheets and comforters, her desk spotted with human skulls of various sizes. Several bookshelves were stuffed to overflowing with hardcovers and paperbacks of wildly divergent heights, ages, and conditions. But what gave Blaine the most hope was the pentagram drawn in what he hoped was red paint on the wall over the headboard.

Tina noticed Karofsky's jaw-dropped expression, which fortunately seemed to draw attention away from his own. She shrugged. "It's my space. I can do what I want with it." She gestured towards the bed; the two boys sat on the edge of it while she planted herself in the plush chair in front of the desk. "Okay, Blaine... Dave, was it?" He nodded. "What's this all about? We hardly talk in glee club, so I'm not sure what you want from me."

Blaine took in a breath; this was going to be the hardest part: getting Tina to believe them. "This is going to sound really weird..."

Tina smiled a little. "I like weird."

"That's... why we came to you. What we're going to be telling you, you're not going to believe. But you have to. Please."

Something in his voice or face must've struck her, because Tina's expression turned concerned, serious. "I'll at least listen. Go ahead."

And so they told her. Per previous agreement, as the person she actually knew (or remembered knowing), Blaine did most of the talking, with Karofsky only cutting in with more detail or confirmation. Tina's face remained neutral as they did their best to exude sincerity, sanity. It took them hours (or so it felt like), but finally, they finished. Tina's eyes flickered between their faces, as if searching for any hint of deception. Finally, she spoke.

"This is a joke, right?"

Both Blaine and Dave let out the same soft groan. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "No, I swear, this is all true," Blaine said, a note of pleading creeping into his voice.

"You said I know him..." Her hand waved towards Karofsky. "But I don't. And you say that's because I've been... magicked into forgetting him? Who is he, then?"

Blaine and Dave glanced at each other. They'd agreed that not going into detail about Dave's past with the glee club would probably be best. They'd just decided to hope that their avoidance of that past wouldn't be noticed. No such luck, of course. "I... played on the football team," Karofsky replied. "With Finn Hudson. And Sam Evans. And Mike Chang. Your boyfriend after you broke up with Artie Abrams."

Tina raised an eyebrow, but nothing more. "You could've told him all that," she said to Blaine.

"Ask him about something that happened before I came to McKinley."

"Kurt could've told you, and you could've passed it on."

_Great_, Blaine thought, _the _last_ thing we need right now is rationality._

"And even assuming you were telling the truth, and I did believe you... Why did you come to me?"

"Well... we thought you might know something about magic..." Blaine didn't even realize he was waving his arms at the decorations around the room until he felt them drop afterward.

Tina frowned in annoyance. "What, you assume that just because I dress in black and have a slightly macabre taste in decor that I'm interested in magick? You just assume that because I like reading about the supernatural that I think it actually exists?"

Both boys stared at her.

"Well, do you or don't you?" Karofsky said.

Tina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine." She got up, put on a pair of cloth gloves, and took a large book from one of the shelves. It was bound and covered in cracked, faded leather carved with intricate filigrees. She carefully opened it; Blaine swore he could see a puff of dust rise up from its faded, yellowing pages. "This is a French grimoire from the 13th century. Found it at a used bookstore in Cleveland. One of only five left in existence. And I have it." The girlish, gleeful grin that came over her face was one Blaine was more used to seeing on someone who just got hold of the latest World of Warcraft expansion or the hottest new skirt for spring. "I haven't broken this out for I don't know how long... Don't want to damage it or anything, but..." She frowned. "Huh. I could've sworn it'd been longer, but..." She shrugged. "Whatever. This is why I started taking French," she remarked to no one in particular as she began flipping pages. "So I could understand this thing. Kurt helped too. Why couldn't it have been written in Chinese or Hebrew?" Tina abruptly stopped turning pages; she brought the book closer to her face, squinting. "Huh."

"What is it?" Dave asked eagerly. Blaine had to admit that he too was leaning forward in anticipation.

"There are spells of forgetting here... Mostly to purge yourself of bad memories... Invoking the waters of Lethe..."

Karofsky frowned. "The what?"

"Lethe," Blaine supplied. "It's from Greek mythology. One of the five rivers of the underworld. Drinking from it was supposed to remove memories of life from the dead." He winced at his own tone; he wasn't usually _that_ supercilious, was he?

Tina merely nodded in his direction. "Most of these memory spells are pretty simple, though. To affect more than one person... To affect so _many_ people... The magician has to be either really powerful or really talented."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Karofsky asked.

Tina shook her head. "Power means control. It means knowing and understanding exactly what you're doing every step of the way, and never allowing anything different or unexpected to happen. That takes study and practice and dedication. Sort of like singing, actually. Talent... Well, anyone can be talented. They can accomplish more and do it all more quickly than those who study, but they lack control." She looked at them both, her face set and dead serious. "They usually end up destroying themselves. Sometimes they take others with them."

There was a silence as the two boys absorbed this.

"So in Dave's case... Which of the two would apply to what's happening to him?"

"No idea. Could be either. We'll have to investigate more to figure that out."

Blaine perked up; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dave light up in a painful kind of hope. "You mean...?" he began.

Tina nodded. "If you two are making a fool out of me, I'm gonna make sure you pay." She cast a look at Blaine. "You in particular. You know all I have to do is have a word with Kurt."

Blaine swallowed. "Right."

"But why?" Blaine glared at Karofsky, but the big oaf continued opening his mouth. "I mean, you don't sound like you believe us. So why...?"

"Because while I'm still not sure this isn't just some big joke, I believe you just enough. You really sound like you at least believe yourselves." She paused, staring at Karofsky so long that they both started to shrink. "And, when I look at you... I dunno..." She cocked her head. "Maybe it's nothing. But the Blaine I know..." She paused to look significantly at Karofsky before continuing. "... isn't crazy. Besides..." Here she got a sharp, almost crazy grin on her face. "If there's the slightest chance that magic exists... that it's all real and possible... I _have_ to be a part of it. I _have_ to see it for myself. What if we could get evidence and show it to the world! Can you imagine? It'd be, like, the find of the century! We'd be famous!"

"Right now, I'd be fine with being remembered, thanks," Dave cut in. "Besides, I'm not sure I wanna give anyone else ideas..."

"Why?" Tina asked with genuine curiosity. "Do you have a lot of enemies?"

Dave rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, well..."

"So what does the book say about the big memory spells?" Blaine cut in before Karofsky could continue digging his own grave.

"Just give me a few minutes."

As she delved deeper into the tome, her lips moving as she translated, Dave leaned close to Blaine. "You really think this is gonna work?" he whispered.

Blaine glanced at Tina, at the dusty book in her lap. "A lot more than I thought it would just a few minutes ago," he replied.

About ten minutes later, Dave left to use the bathroom. Tina paused in her work, regarding Blaine for a long moment. "He seems nice. Kinda quiet, though."

"Who? Dave?" Blaine sputtered.

"I wish I remembered him. He must be a good friend of yours... uh, ours... if you're helping him, though."

There was so much, _so _much, Blaine thought of saying, wanted to say. Instead, he choked out, "Well, let's concentrate on getting him back to reality, huh?" Tina shrugged and returned to the book.

By the time Karofsky returned, Blaine's mask of neutrality was firmly back in place.


	3. Searching Your Memories

**AN: Hope people are still interested in this. Perhaps not a lot happened last chapter, but it was necessary. We move on now, but I would really appreciate feedback; I know what I want to accomplish with this, but I'm finding it difficult to actually _do_. I'd love to know if I'm on the right track or not!  
**

"I... have a confession to make." Tina looked up at them, sheepishly biting her lip.

"Yeah?" Karofsky prompted.

"I've never... actually done any magic." There was a moment of silence, and she continued. "I've tried out a few spells from the book, of course — I mean, how could I not, right? — but they didn't work."

"Well, now you know magic exists, right?" Dave said. "Maybe now you'll be... I dunno, faithful or something? Maybe now that you can believe, it'll work."

"Huh."

Karofsky turned to Blaine. "What?"

Blaine shook his head. "Nothing." He'd been about to compliment Karofsky on his insight, but knew that if he actually tried to voice the opinion, he'd sound way too astonished and condescending. Tension was the last thing Tina, the last thing they, needed right now. "Besides, _we_ have faith in you. Right, Dave?"

Dave nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. If anyone can understand and do this shit, it's you."

Tina blushed for a moment, then returned her eyes to the grimoire. "Well, they do say that the magician's belief is a prime force in their power," she said thoughtfully. "It's worth a shot."

"So you know what to do?" Blaine asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"I think so. If the spells our magician used to erase Dave is anything like the ones in this book, I think we can undo them."

"And if they're not?" Dave asked with a wince.

"The counters should still work. Magick, no matter from what era or culture, is all interconnected with each other. I mean, there's only so many ways to manipulate the basic forces of the universe, right?" She gave a "duh" eye roll; the boys smiled and nodded to humor her. "Now, whatever the magician did left shards of our memories — the way the world was when it remembered Dave — intact."

Blaine nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. I'm living proof."

"Right. That's actually the big thing working in our favor. Your having memories of Dave means that the spell of forgetting was incomplete or flawed somehow. We can attack those flaws to unravel the whole thing."

"So how do we do that?" Dave's face was focused, serious; Blaine would've thought that such a look would've been restricted to football play charts or big screen TVs blasting _Call of Duty_. But then, it was Karofsky's whole existence at stake, wasn't it?

"According to the grimoire, there should be tokens out there — physical objects representing Dave's existence. We need to gather them. Their power will tell us where the original ritual was performed. That's important, because we'll need to be there, at the focus of the magician's power, to undo the spell."

Blaine's brow furrowed. "Um... Won't that also mean that the magician, whoever he is, will probably also be there? And be able to mess with us? He's already demonstrated that he's really powerful..."

"Or really talented," Tina added pointedly. "Still, you're right... Hmm." She thought for a moment, then nodded to herself. She rotated her chair to face her desk, then opened a box tucked away in a corner. She pulled out two small leather pouches hanging from long leather thongs knotted together to form a necklace. Tina handed one to each boy, then put on a third. "Here."

Dave put his on; Blaine turned over his in his hand. "What is this?"

"It's a protective charm, straight from the grimoire. It'll protect us from direct magical attacks... I hope. I mean, I made them because they seemed cool, and I figured if having something like it made you feel safer, it didn't matter if magick was real. Now that it actually _has_ to work..." She swallowed audibly. "If it doesn't, I don't give refunds." Her lightheartedness sounded forced.

Blaine shrugged and looped the charm around his neck, tucking the pouch under his shirt. Worked, didn't work... Either way, it couldn't hurt, right?

"So where do we find these... tokens?" Dave asked.

"They'll be in places of great personal significance to you. We'll need at least three to even have a chance of undoing the spell."

Dave thought for a moment. "Well, there's home... and McKinley, of course... I dunno where a third would be..."

"Well, that's enough to start with." Tina picked up her backpack and started emptying it of books. "We'll need to work fast. The longer this spell is in place, the harder it'll be to get everyone's memories back. I need to start gathering materials for the rituals I need to do; you guys will have to get the tokens. Where are you going to start?"

"McKinley," Dave and Blaine chorused. They glanced at each other in equal parts annoyance and amusement before Blaine continued. "We... met Dave's father. He'll remember us if we get anywhere close to Dave's house."

"You'll have to figure out a way to get in there somehow. We need those tokens, and his house is a prime location. Maybe you two could split up and—"

"No," the two declared, again in unison, again drawing half-amused, half-annoyed glares from each other. Blaine knew that Dave was probably afraid he'd disappear if he were left out of Blaine's sight for too long. He knew this because he felt close to the same thing; Dave was his only tangible proof that he wasn't insane. Lose that... what did he have left?

Tina, for her part, merely shrugged. "Okay." She slipped the grimoire into her backpack and zipped it shut, rising as she slung it on her shoulder. "You still have my phone number, right?" she asked Blaine; he answered with a nod. "Keep an eye out for clues. If the magician is as powerful..."

"Or as talented..." Blaine cut in with a smile.

Tina nodded approvingly. "... As he seems to be, he'll have made a mark on reality itself. Little hints about who he might be could slip in here and there in really subtle ways."

Dave sucked in an audible breath as the three left the room. Blaine regarded his almost constipated look as Tina made excuses to her parents. "What?"

"It's... this is _not_ what I thought I'd be doing when I woke up this morning, y'know?" Dave grinned a little — a pained, halfhearted grin.

"You and me both."

* * *

McKinley High was long closed by the time Blaine and Dave arrived, of course. Fortunately, the latter knew a way in. "Busted door near the gym. Sometimes the hockey team uses it to sneak in and drink beer in the auditorium."

When they entered, Blaine made a point of grabbing a mop discarded by a careless janitor and threading it between the door handles. Dave stared.

"Don't need anyone surprising us," Blaine replied with a shrug.

The empty school was eerie, full of silence and shadows that caused a shiver to run up Blaine's spine. The flashlights Tina gave them did little but cast pools of light that were somehow even less comforting for their isolation amongst the gloom.

"So," Blaine breathed, trying not to reveal his nervousness to Karofsky, "places of special significance to you. Where do we start?" There was a silence so profound that Blaine had to turn to make sure Karofsky was still right behind him. "Well?"

"I can think of two off the top of my head. You..." He heaved a sigh. "You know both of them." Blaine cocked his head. "The closest one's over there. C'mon." With a frown set on his face, he charged forward, nearly knocking Blaine aside in his haste. He regained his balance, resisting the urge to snap, and followed.

In spite of the dark, Karofsky seemed to know exactly where he was going. A left here, a right here, and soon Blaine, new as he was to McKinley, had lost total track of where they were. Karofsky shoved open a set of doors leading towards the central quad; he took the nearby stairs two at a time, then halted, his flashlight playing over the cold concrete steps.

Blaine finally caught up, breathless. He looked around; in the harsh yet dim light of the still-rising moon and nearby streetlights, he finally recognized this place. "Oh."

"Yeah," Karofsky replied snappishly. He knelt on the landing, his light jerkily searching the corners and edges. Not knowing what else to say or do, Blaine turned away, casting his own light over the steps up to the second floor. "Why'd you do it?" Karofsky's tight voice suddenly asked.

"Do what?"

"Confront me here? In the middle of school? Where anyone could've heard you? Were you _trying_ to out me or something?"

"No," Blaine replied stiffly, "we were trying to _help_ you. Not that you cared. I was the one who told Kurt to talk to you in public."

"I figured." The tone was decidedly not friendly.

"_Because_," he continued, teeth gritted, "he'd be _safe_. He wouldn't have to worry about being beaten up... or being alone with you again. Yes, people could've heard us, but my first priority was Kurt's and my safety."

"So to hell with me, right?"

"You'd been assaulting Kurt for weeks. What was I supposed to think you'd do, give us roses?"

"So instead of at least trying to meet me somewhere public outside of school, you decide to do the one thing guaranteed to scare the shit out of me?"

"Maybe you're right," Blaine replied sarcastically. "Considering what you did when you felt threatened, maybe I should've been even more careful."

Blaine's back was to Karofsky, but he could _sense_ the other teenager freeze. He tried to ignore this, ignore the fact that turned his back to Dave Karofsky without a second thought to begin with, continuing his search for the token. The seconds stretched by. Finally, Karofsky spoke again, his voice low and hoarse. "I wouldn't have done it, you know."

"Done what?"

"Killed him. I... I was scared. I know I shouldn't have said it, but I wouldn't have done it."

"How could Kurt know that?" Blaine asked evenly. "How could I? You'd already done so much to him. How was I supposed to know how much... further you'd be willing to go?"

"Shit, really? You... you really think that of me?"

"Like I said, Karofsky, what else could I think? What have you done that would make me think otherwise? I didn't know you. I _still_ don't know you. We've never actually talked. And we have a LOT of baggage between us that's just been rotting ever since we first met. All I had to go on was Kurt, and you _know_ what he thought of you." Blaine almost added the word "then" to the end of that sentence; he bit it off, not really sure what made him want to add it, or what made him not say it. Instead, he turned to Karofsky, to look him straight in the eye. "All I knew of was a physically violent, emotionally unstable bully. Gay or not, that's what mattered. That's why we had to be protected. For all I knew, you could've decided to shoot up the school if Kurt said or did the wrong thing."

"Then you're right," Karofsky said flatly. "You _don't_ know me." His eyes dropped back to the floor with a sigh as he continued (or pretended to continue) to search. Karofsky's next words were so soft, so breathy, that Blaine almost didn't hear them, and he wasn't sure he was meant to. "I'm not sure who does." He fell silent again, and Blaine was sure it was over. Then Karofsky's voice rose again. "Gay or not..."

"What?"

"What you said... Gay or not... It didn't matter to you, did it?"

Blaine snorted. "Seeing as how I'm gay too, of course not. It's just one facet of you. It doesn't define you completely as a person."

Karofsky chuckled, a completely mirthless sound. "That's what my therapist says. Wish everyone thought that."

"Yeah," Blaine said with an exhale. "I definitely agree." Another silence passed. "I don't see anything here," he finally said, his voice still a little raw.

"Me neither. Then let's try the other place." He started down the stairs, without even a glance behind him to see if Blaine was following.

"I assume you mean...?"

"Yeah. It's this way."

Blaine let Karofsky's flashlight guide him as he considered their destination. He'd been in it himself, of course, as had Kurt, since the incident. He himself was necessarily detached from what had happened there, so he was able to use the room normally, and even he knew better than to ask Kurt how he handled it. Maybe it was the current situation (okay, it almost certainly was), but for the first time, Blaine couldn't help but wonder what _Karofsky_ thought, having to use that room almost every afternoon, be in the very spot where _it _happened, when he must've thought the whole world was crashing down around him...

_No wonder he went crazy._

The thought came to him before he could stop it. What, he was making excuses for _Dave Karofsky_ now? Maybe he really was going insane.

The flashlight ahead of him paused at a familiar door. It was pushed open, revealing a yawning chasm of pure black. There was a click, and Blaine had to turn away for a moment to keep from being dazzled by the sudden explosion of brightness. The dull florescent lights buzzed as they illuminated red-painted lockers and low wooden benches. The air still held the barest tinge of sweat and deodorant and a wisp of humidity.

Dave sucked in an audible breath as he turned off his flashlight. "C'mon, let's get this over with already." He began poking around, opening lockers that didn't have padlocks on them. He recoiled at the second one he opened. "Shit! God, it fucking stinks! Does this guy know what soap is?"

Blaine chuckled. "You'd think Dalton would be better. But no. Guys are the same all over, I guess." He knelt down to look under a bench. The words escaped him before he could fully process them. "Hey, you okay?"

Dave turned towards him with a startled look. "Uh, considering I don't fucking exist, no, I'm not..."

"No, I mean... Being here..."

"Oh." He leaned against the lockers, his hands thrust in his pockets. He was staring at a point in the floor; the intensity of the stare told Blaine that it was probably the exact spot where _it_ had happened. "What, you give a shit for my well being all of the sudden?"

Blaine barely managed to bite off the sarcastic truth that he was tempted to let fly. "Well, considering we have the same goals for once, we're not going to do very well at it if we're sniping at each other all the time."

Dave looked up, cocking his head slightly to the right. The thoughtful expression on his face almost made Blaine more uncomfortable than any other emotion he'd encountered from Dave, than the anger or the hate. Finally, Dave spoke, his words slow and deliberate. "I guess you're right. I suppose I'm just..." He trailed off, his eyes returning to that spot on the floor. "Still, it takes two to snipe, you know?"

Protests bubbled up in him, most of them along the lines of "but I'm right" and "I'm the victim, here." Somehow, he managed to say instead, "yeah." He didn't trust himself not to explode if he said any more.

They searched in silence for a couple of minutes before Dave's voice came up again. "You too, huh?"

Blaine froze. "What?"

"It's happened to you too, hasn't it? You've had your life turned to shit by guys like me. Well, maybe not _exactly_ like me, but you get the idea." Dave turned to him, his face set and serious. "I've learned what it looks like. The first time I saw it in Kurt's eyes, I almost..." He closed his own eyes, sighing. "And I saw it in the mirror, after Thurston, and..." He shook his head. "Just now... I saw a little of it in you."

Blaine exhaled. "Yeah, well, I'm an openly gay Midwestern teenager who doesn't live in a big city. It sort of comes with the territory."

"I thought your school was supposed to be all gay friendly and shit."

"I wasn't always there, though. I went to a public school before." Dave winced. "Yeah, I know. In a sense, it was as bad as McKinley, maybe worse... Everyone just turned the other way when..." Blaine paused, unsure if he should continue, if he wanted to continue. But somehow, he felt like he _had_ to. "I wasn't out then. But I wanted to be. That's why I took a chance. And it bit me. Hard."

Dave stared in disbelief. "Seriously? But you... Now..." He gestured at Blaine's sweater and bow tie, at his slicked back hair.

Blaine snorted. "It took Dalton to make me not afraid to be myself. But back then... Don't think I don't understand being afraid, Karofsky. I do. Who knows; maybe if things had just been a little different, I might've..." He trailed off.

"Might've... what?"

_Been afraid of my shadow, for fear of exposure? Played up my straight interests to look normal to my friends and parents? Pushed the open kids around so I wouldn't look like the coward I was? Been like you?_ But it felt simultaneously insulting to both of them, so he didn't say it. Besides, even he wondered time to time — to his eventual shame — what it might've been like to be the football playing, car-fixing jock. It looked so easy... But if Dave Karofsky had shown one thing, it was anything but. It might have been the hardest thing for any teenager to do. "Might've stayed in the closet," he said out loud. "But there came a point where I had to take the plunge, or I was going to go nuts. And I paid for it. I... spent time in the hospital myself. And not by my own choice, either." It was harsher than he'd intended, but Dave's face didn't change; he must've taken it in the way he meant it.

"Oh." Dave shuffled his feet, actually looking thoughtful and ashamed.

"I left my school because of what happened. I ran to Dalton as fast as I could." Blaine laughed bitterly.

"So that's why you told Kurt to confront me? Even though it could've gotten him beaten up?"

"He _needed_ to confront you. He needed to have courage and face his fears..."

"The way you didn't?"

It was a simple question, and a natural one. But something about it sent a cold chill through Blaine.

"Me and my therapist have been talking a lot about projection and stuff like that. Putting my emotions onto someone else," Karofsky continued. "It's a lot of why I targeted Kurt; I was jealous that he had the guts to be himself and I didn't."

"Interesting," Blaine replied stiffly, "but I don't see what you're getting at."

"Oh, yeah?" Karofsky asked with raised eyebrow. "Kurt isn't you, you know. And I didn't put you in the hospital."

"You're cut from the same cloth, though."

"I.. I know." Karofsky's voice was dry; maybe the therapy really was helping, if it got him to at least this level of self-awareness. It at least seemed to get him off the track he was on, which relieved Blaine immensely for some reason he couldn't fully articulate in his mind.

"Then why are we even talking about this? Don't we have, I don't know, your entire existence to save?"

Dave shrugged, a much more helpless gesture than it might've seemed at first glance. "Like you said, we've never talked. But you're still helping me now, and..." His face scrunched, as if he was physically trying to hold back his next words, and failing. "... And Kurt loves you, so..."

"Oh, is that it? You're trying to take him away from me _again_?"

Karofsky's jaw dropped. "You know?" he almost whispered.

"Of course I know. Kurt didn't have much choice but to tell me, did he? Not when one of his friends could've mentioned 'my' romantic Valentine's Day cards at any moment." Blaine glared, the weirdness and the urgency forgotten in the releasing of words long suppressed. "So back off, Karofsky. Kurt is _mine_, and I won't let you..."

To his surprise, Karofsky didn't respond in kind. Instead, his demeanor seemed to plunge in the opposite direction: ice cold. "Yours? So what, he's a trophy now? Your possession?"

"Of course not! I'm only saying that—"

"And since we're trying to get towards the same goal and all, I don't think we want to be talking about Sebastian Smythe right now, do we?"

Blaine swallowed, his face suddenly feeling cold. "What... what are you talking about? How do you know—"

"He's a regular at Scandals. He's got a rep. I guess that's why I thought you..." He shook his head in something akin to disgust, which somehow didn't rouse Blaine's indignation nearly as much as it should have. He refused to consider why, at least at the moment. "Anyway, I'm not going to try to steal Kurt from you. We have too much bad history, and I'm not his type anyway." Blaine thought about Finn Hudson and Sam Evans, and bit his lip to keep from saying anything. "Besides, like I said, he's in love with you." _For some strange reason_, Blaine's mind automatically added, knowing that was what Karofsky was thinking. "And... If I'm ever going to find someone as good as him someday... Maybe it wouldn't hurt to learn how to become the kind of guy a guy like him can love...?"

He should've thought the words, the emotion behind them, sad and pathetic. But somehow, Blaine couldn't find it in himself to muster the least bit of disgust or pity. A chord was struck deep in him, a chord he tamped down with the desperation of a lunatic. He forced himself to turn away and start scanning the floor. "We're wasting time," he said with a suddenness and force that even his ears found suspicious. "Let's just find your token and get out of here before someone finds us." It was then that his eyes picked up a pinpoint gleam coming from under a nearby locker. "Wait... What's...?"

"Yo." The foreign voice sent both boys whirling.

"Puck?"

Noah Puckerman was leaning against the door to the hall. He wore a blue cutoff shirt and shorts, and carried a baseball bat resting on his shoulder. He regarded Dave with a blank look. "Do I know you?"

"Obviously not," came the bitter reply.

Puck stared at Dave for a moment, as if trying to place his face. He shook his head. "Whatever. What are you guys doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing," Blaine said slowly. He didn't know Puck very well, despite their common musical interests; they certainly didn't otherwise run in the same circles. But something was gnawing at the back of his mind... "How did you even get inside?"

Puck broke out in a grin, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large ring of keys. He jangled them sharply. "Borrowed these from Coach."

"She lets you borrow her keys?"

Puck shrugged, threading the large ring over his left wrist like a bracelet. "Anyway, I was just... hanging around. Practicing." He lifted the bat from his shoulder slightly, as if in salute. "You know."

Dave frowned. "I didn't know you played baseball."

"Yeah? Well, since we don't fucking know each other, you wouldn't know, would you?"

"He's right, though." Blaine started to step forward, but he stopped himself for some reason he still couldn't figure out. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

At that moment, the usual easygoing grin dropped off Puck's face. A faraway look came to his eyes, as if he were looking at something that wasn't really there. "I... dunno."

"You don't know?" Dave repeated.

"I..." Puck shook his head viciously. "Look, stop trying to confuse me..."

"You're the one who's confusing us," Blaine said slowly. "Are you okay? Look, maybe we should just go and..."

Puck's faraway look vanished, replaced by something hard, something cold. Blaine tensed; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dave did too. It was becoming clear that something was seriously _wrong_ here. Puck drew the keys off his wrist. Giving them a look and a sneer, he turned. Swiftly picking out one of the many keys, he jammed it into the door lock and gave it a sharp twist. The click of the lock sliding home seemed to echo a little in the chilly room. Puck yanked the key out and put the ring back in his pocket.

Dave swallowed, almost audibly. "Uh... What did you do that for?"

Puck closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened them. "I... dunno that either. Because... I had to?"

"Had to?" Blaine repeated. But he could tell from the tone of Puck's voice that it had been just as much a question for him.

"Yeah." Puck stepped forward, his back straight, all nonchalance gone. "I'm really sorry, guys. I don't want to, and I don't know why, but..." He swung the bat, a low "woosh" breaking the air. "You two gotta die."

**AN: Some reasons for some of my writing choices: remember whose POV this is being told from. Also remember that Blaine and Dave, as mentioned, have never interacted very heavily. There's a lot of ill will and unaddressed issues between them, and that's one major reason why this story is being written: to explore some of that, trace some of that, and hopefully develop both their characters for the better in the end (this is much of my concern for the right/wrong track thing expressed at the beginning, so as I said, feedback appreciated!).**


	4. Clashing Memories

**A semi-related question before we start: I was thinking of having the very lovely artist Lauren (you might've seen her art illustrating various Dave-type 'fics and scenes in the past) illustrate something from one of my 'fics as a commission. Trouble is, I have NO idea what to ask her to do or where to start trying to figure out what I want her to do. Any ideas?**

_He didn't say that. He couldn't have said that._

That brain freeze, that wonderful, evolutionarily useful brain freeze — the same one that turned deer into hood ornaments every day — rooted Blaine in place. Even as his eyes registered Puck slouching towards him, baseball bat at the ready, cocky smirk on his face, his mind disbelieved it. Because obviously, his glee club comrade _couldn't_ be intending to kill him.

Right?

Someone's hands roughly grabbed at his shoulders and shoved him away from Puck. _Karofsky_. The action, the motion, snapped him out of his paralysis; he ran — no, more like stumbled. He felt his back slamming against the lockers on the other side of the room, the pain and the cold of the metal shooting through his nerves. On the other side of the room, Dave had his own back up against the wall. Puck took wild glances at them both, as if in indecision. As long as they were separated like this, Puck couldn't attack either of them without opening himself up to an assault from the other.

It was almost like Karofsky did that on purpose.

"What the hell's going on, Puck?" Dave asked in a low voice.

"I told you I don't know!" Puck snapped in an irritation that seemed almost comical considering what he was trying to do. "I just know that I gotta kill you both!"

"Come on, Puck..." Blaine's voice sounded foreign to his own ears — strangled, weak, nothing at all like the confident Warbler strutting on stage. "You're not a bad guy. You're not a killer."

"I _have to kill you_!" Blaine could see Puck's knuckles whiten as they gripped the bat. "Fuck! Don't make this any harder than it has to be!" He lunged at Dave, as if out of frustration. Dave quickly sidestepped; he reached out as if to grab at Puck, but a couple of wild, blind swings of the baseball bat made him jerk back. Blaine knew he should have tried to make a move, but as much as his mind was screaming at him, his leg muscles just couldn't seem to follow. All he did was circle, so that he and Dave were directly across from each other once more, with Puck in the middle. Now Dave was up against the door — the rather solidly locked door — as their mohawked attacker whirled back and forth between them.

Roaring in incoherent frustration, he swung the bat around wildly. Blaine's fear deepened; this was nothing like the easygoing, charming Noah Puckerman he knew. Sure, he'd heard from Kurt all about his bullying days, but even he never said that the former delinquent could be like... this. It wasn't natural.

But it could be... supernatural?

Blaine's hand flew up to the charm around his neck. Tina had said it would protect them from the magician. Was this what she had in mind?

"Hey." Both Puck's and Blaine's eyes snapped up at the sound. Dave looked grim, but not in a way Dave had ever seen before. There was a determination set into his features; Blaine imagined that this must've been the Dave Karofsky opposing football players saw on the gridiron just before the snap. Hell, he had to admit it was pretty damn intimidating, pretty damn intense. "You ready?"

"Huh?" Puck asked. But Blaine knew he was speaking to him. He opened his mouth to question, but then he saw Dave's hand inch upwards, towards...

Oh.

It was a little crazy, but there was _nothing_ about this entire day that wasn't. And it looked like their best chance to break the stalemate... their best chance to survive.

So Blaine merely nodded.

And before Puck could move, or even question again, Dave's hand flew up to the light switch on the wall next to the door.

The entire locker room was plunged into blackness. "Fuck!" Puck snarled. "No fair! Where the fuck are you...?" Blaine fell to his knees and crawled, hearing the "whoosh" of broken air as Puck swung the baseball bat blindly. Well, they were all blind, but hopefully Dave was okay.

_Hopefully Dave was okay?_ Talk about strange bedfellows.

Blaine's fingers found cold tile. Okay, now he had some idea of where he was, and where he could maybe hide. He dared to lift himself up into a crouch, shuffling along the floor, his arms waving out in front of him, trying to find landmarks by touch even as he heard Puck swearing in the darkness behind him.

"Gonna fucking turn you both into pulp! Once I get the lights, you two are _so_ fucking dead...!"

Where the hell was Dave? Of course, he couldn't call out, not without giving away his own position, but since this was his idea in the first place, surely he got somewhere safe? Or else he was hiding... Perhaps even escaped without him?

That would figure.

Blaine sniffed the air, felt something vaguely familiar under his wandering hands... Okay, here was someplace he could make a stand... or at least hide.

Then the lights came on, dazzling his dilated pupils. Choking down the cry that threatened to rip from his throat, he staggered once, then lurched forward, as blind as he was in the dark.

"_Shit_!" Apparently, he wasn't the only one. "Fucking hell! You two are so gonna pay for this!" Puck screeched. There was a long minute of silence; Blaine used the time to clear out his eyesight and hide.

Then the footsteps started.

"Y'know, I'm getting tired of this shit." Puck's voice echoed tinnily across the connected rooms. "You just couldn't lay down and die, could you? That would've made it easier on all of us. Now I gotta _work_ to bash your fucking skulls into pieces. Really fucking irritating, you know?"

It sounded like Puck, both in voice and syntax. But the words themselves... And his eyes — oh, God, his eyes, staring at him with the kind of pure murderous intent towards Blaine that was impossible to mistake or deny... It was so out of Blaine's experience with the guy that it _had_ to be the magician. Like Dave's room, there was simply no other explanation.

"Yoo hoo! Blaine! Other dude! Come on out! I got a little present for ya!" Another whoosh. "This is kinda fun, though. Hide and seek was always one of my favorites." Blaine grimaced at the almost childlike glee. "Lessee... Maybe in the shower room?" Puck's voice echoed even more strongly against the tile and high ceiling. "_In_ the showers...? Nope! Oooh, bathroom stalls. That's a good place. Don't see any feet, though, but even I know about the old 'stand on the toilet' trick. Maybe I'll find someone... _here_?" Blaine heard Puck yank open one of the stall doors. "Nope again. Man, the old Puckster's batting 0 so far. Let's try door number two!" Blaine's heart was now beating directly in his ears. He shifted his weight. If he was going to live, he'd have to do this just right...

"Nothing again," Puck continued merrily. "This is fun, ain't it, boys and girls? One more door!" Blaine saw the shadows, and braced himself. "How about door numb—" At that instant, Blaine's foot shot out, kicking the stall door as hard as he could. There was a sickening crack as the metal door slammed against Puck's face. The mohawked teenager's head snapped back, blood gushing from his nose.

"**_Fuck_**! Fucking son of a—" The bat clattered to the floor as Puck's hands scrabbled at his face, trying to staunch the blood and relieve the pain. Blaine hopped down from the toilet seat and kicked the bat away, sending it rolling into the showers. "I'll kill you!" Puck screamed, blood red and sticky between his fingers. "I'll fucking kill—"

Dave seemed to come out of nowhere, bursting out from the equipment room like a vengeful spirit. One moment, Puck was lurching towards the terrified Blaine. The next, Dave was _there_, clinging onto Puck's back, his arms locked around the other boy's neck. Puck was strong, but Dave was heavy; the two crashed to the floor. Blaine watched with wide eyes as the two wrestled; between the agony of Puck's nose, Dave's weight, and the surprise, it wasn't long before Dave was sitting atop the back of the prone Noah Puckerman, holding down his arms bent behind his back. "Get a rope!" Dave screamed.

"Wh—"

"A rope! Get a fucking rope!" Puck struggled, but Dave was holding on... for now.

Snapped out of his shock, Blaine sprinted into the equipment room. Thankfully, the boxes and lockers were open; Blaine grabbed a pair of jump ropes and hurried back into the shower room. As Dave held Puck's wrists together, Blaine bound them, tying the knots tight enough for Puck to roar with pain (thank God for that brief stint in the Scouts). More knots followed, binding Puck's ankles. Finally, Dave dragged Puck's writhing form to one of the bathroom stalls; Blaine tied Puck's bonds to the barrier frame bolted to the floor.

The grim task finished, Blaine and Dave stepped back. Puck had ceased his struggles, fully feeling the helplessness of his state. He looked up at them, his face streaked with blood. "Why?" Blaine knew the question referred as much to himself as it did to them.

"Sorry," Blaine whispered.

"Come on," Dave murmured. "We gotta get out of here." He snatched the key ring out of Puck's pocket. Puck sniffed loudly through a twisted, clogged nose as rheumy eyes watched Dave and Blaine stride out of the shower room.

Dave was unlocking the door when Blaine remembered. "Wait!" It took a moment, but he found that glint again — the one he saw the second before Puck showed up. He bent down and looked under the locker; it was a piece of laminated plastic. Blaine snatched it up; it was Dave's driver's license. His photo had a rather intense stare (because obviously, a rough and tumble, heterosexual athlete wouldn't smile for the camera, would he?); Blaine found his eyes flickering towards the statistical information. He had to actively resist the urge. Not only was now not the time to satisfy this kind of morbid curiosity, but frankly, would there ever _be_ a good time? Probably not.

"The hell?" Blaine jumped, his nerves jangling; Dave had appeared over his shoulder, staring at the license. _How the hell does someone that big move that fast? And that quietly? _But then, Kurt had said that he was a right guard and a hockey player; plenty of need for speed and agility there. Dave patted his pockets. "Shit, my wallet _is_ gone. I hadn't even realized that until now."

"Whoever this guy is, you think he's gonna make it that easy for you?" Blaine asked wryly. He began to slip the license into his own pocket, but paused. Silently, he instead held it out to Dave. Dave stared at it for a moment, then slowly took it.

"Thanks."

"Hey, it's yours."

"What th—?" The voice from the next room was woozy, confused. "Ow! What...? Where the fuck am I...? How... How the _hell_ did I... Hey, is there someone there? Hey! Help! Some sick fucker broke my nose and tied me up!"

Blaine and Dave glanced at each other. "Looks like Puck's back to normal," the former said quietly.

"You wanna take the risk and untie him?"

Blaine shook his head emphatically. "No. Janitor will find him in the morning. Let's just get out of here and find the next token before someone else finds us."

"Couldn't agree more."

* * *

Blaine's grip on the steering wheel was almost strangulation-tight as they drove. He wasn't sure where he was going; he'd only been to Karofsky's house that once, after all, and he didn't have a GPS unit, so Dave quietly gave directions every so often. It wasn't long after they left McKinley that Dave finally sighed. "Okay, since we're obviously trying to avoid this as long as possible, one of us has to get it over with sooner or later. Might as well be me." He sucked in a deep breath. "We coulda died back there."

Blaine shuddered. "You don't have to tell me that."

"This is serious shit." Dave's voice was also starting to shudder; Blaine wanted to turn, but not only did he have to keep his eyes on the road, he was afraid of the fear he'd probably see there. To see Karofsky, one of his personal bogeymen, _afraid_... Blaine wasn't sure he wouldn't fall apart himself right then and there. "I mean, I guess I had to know it already; someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make the magic and stuff. But... Someone sent Puck to _kill_ us."

"I know." God, his throat was dry; maybe they could stop for something to drink? No, time was too precious.

"Does someone really hate me this much?" The words were hoarse whispers.

Blaine shook his head. "I... don't know."

They drove in silence for another moment, Blaine watching as cars passed them by or turned into side streets. He wondered what they were doing, what they were thinking, what they were worried about. Certainly not what he and Dave were worried about. "I bet I'm still your prime suspect, aren't I?" The silence that followed was more than tinged with embarrassment. "I understand why, but would it really kill you to trust me? Just a little? If we don't trust each other, neither of us is going to make it through this."

"I could say the same thing, y'know."

"You don't make it very easy."

"I know that," Dave said without rancor. "Maybe..." He stopped short.

"Maybe what?" Blaine was surprised at his own encouraging tone.

"Lemme try something." Dave took a breath, and spoke again. "My name's Dave Karofsky. I'm eighteen, and I was born and raised in this godforsaken town."

Blaine's mouth quirked. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm gay." Blaine nearly swerved off the road at those two simple words. He glanced over at Dave, who seemed stricken himself. He knew that it couldn't have been easy for Dave to say; hell, he himself had taken years in the comfort of Dalton before he could really, truly, consider himself completely out. For someone like Dave, for someone who faced what he had to, did what he did... Blaine frankly couldn't imagine. "And I tore my family apart."

"What?" Blaine had a vague memory of Kurt talking about Dave's family, but he couldn't quite remember what he'd heard; he recalled being preoccupied with Regionals or a glee club assignment.

"My mom... She's a hardcore Christian. After I... I tried to kill myself, she... she tried to get me signed up for a straight camp run by my pastor." Blaine's blood froze. He tried to imagine his parents trying to convert him after his own incident. If they'd tried... he could imagine himself breaking entirely. "My dad... he stuck up for me. He actually went to court to keep Mom from doing it. 'Course, once you take your wife to court, your marriage is pretty much over. She's gone... and even though she still wants to 'fix' me... She's still my mom, y'know? And she and my dad were married since they were in college, and I was the one who broke them up..."

His eyes on the road, Blaine didn't have to look at Dave to see his tears; the lug was probably turned away anyway, trying to hide. He was good at that.

But still...

"My..." Blaine paused. God, was he _really_ about to talk about _that_? With Dave Karofsky, for God's sake? He hadn't even talked about _that_ with Kurt!

Then again, them not being anything to each other was exactly where the temptation had come from. After all, what could he possibly say that would make Dave think _less_ of him? Why would Blaine care either way? And what was the worst Dave could do? Judge him a little more than he already undoubtedly was? Besides, considering what Dave just told him, maybe he'd understand...

So it was that Blaine continued. "My mom's gone too," he said quietly. "She walked out on us when I was six. Sent my dad the divorce papers and that was it." His hands tightened on the wheel. "I only realized when I was older that the fact that the divorce went that smoothly meant that he was expecting it — wanting it — himself. My brother and I still see her during holidays and stuff, but it's with her husband, and that just adds to the awkwardness. And my dad... It's not that he's evil or abusive or cold or anything, it's just that he's always had these... expectations of his kids. That they'd be the most popular students in high school, then go to an Ivy League college, become a professional like him, marry the right people and have lots of grandkids.

"Instead, he got me and my brother. We're each, like, only half of what he wanted. Cooper was the popular jock in high school, but then he had to go and follow his dreams, become a D-list actor. I think I could get into an Ivy if I wanted, but I don't think I'm going to have the kind of career he'd like, never mind have the grandkids he wants, unless I adopt or something. He's never wanted to... 'fix' me like your mom does, but every day, in tiny little ways, his disappointment always comes through." Blaine sighed. "I guess that's the thing: the disappointment. I know that we don't exist to be exactly what our parents want us to be, but..."

"Yeah." The word was so quiet that Blaine almost missed it over the air conditioning and traffic noises outside the car. "Kind of sounds like Mom. My brother's a hippie liberal, so she gave up on him pretty early. I mean, she says she loves me, and I'm sure she does, except..."

"Except that every time she looks at you, you know that if she could, she'd take some power tools and tinker with your brain to make you the heterosexual son she wants, instead of loving you for who you already are."

Dave didn't answer aloud, but Blaine felt positive that if he'd been looking, he would've seen Dave nod. "She wants me to go to heaven."

"He wants me to be happy."

"But despite what Father Mitchell says, I don't think God will send me to hell just for being gay."

"But he seems to think that the only way I'll be happy is his way."

"Maybe that's why for a long time I felt like I _couldn't_ be gay."

"Maybe that's why I've stopped trying to talk to him." There was a red light; Blaine gently braked to a stop. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, a nervous habit, as he waited. He wondered if there was anything else he could add. Something nudged at the back of his mind, but he suppressed it, though he couldn't tell you why if you'd asked. "Huh."

"What?"

"I didn't expect to have anything in common with you, much less this."

He heard Dave snort. "I'm pretty shocked myself." The light was still red; this was one of those intersections that Lima residents cursed under their breath. Blaine looked over at the passenger seat; Dave was regarding him thoughtfully, a regard that made him more than a little nervous.

"None of that absolves you of anything you've done, Dave." He had no idea why he said it — to get that look off of Dave? Probably; he would've rather had a repeat of that encounter before the Night of Neglect concert than have to bear that probing stare a moment more.

"I know," came the remarkably calm reply.

"But I — and a lot of other people — at least understand you a little better now. I understand that you felt like you needed to craft an image to please your mom, to hide the parts of you that she taught you to hate." That thoughtful, probing look came back to Dave's face; fortunately, the light also turned green, so Blaine's attention returned to the road. "But I hope you realize by now that if she has a problem with your sexuality, it's her problem, not yours. Don't spit on the sacrifice your dad made for you by blaming yourself for her leaving."

Dave is silent for a long moment. Then: "I hate to say this, but... you kinda have a point."

Blaine laughed. "I know I do."

"So where the fuck was this Blaine last year?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm me, and that's it."

"Uh huh. But I agree that it's kind of weird that we even have this much in common. How the fuck do you deal with it?"

"Honestly? By throwing myself into extracurriculars, so I don't spend as much time at home. I didn't become the lead of the Warblers _just_ because of my voice."

Dave barked a laugh. "Good thinking. Bet Kurt appreciates that..."

He trailed off, and the temperature in the car seemed to plunge. There it was, their _other_ major commonality — one that Blaine had hoped wouldn't come up. But then, they were on the honesty kick, so...

"I meant what I said before, Karofsky," he said.

"And I told you, you don't need to worry. Besides, he'll be off in New York at that fancy performing school of his next year, far far away from me."

"And me."

"But he at least loves _you_, so that won't be a problem." Blaine only barely noticed the tinge of bitterness in the words.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Blaine's breath caught in his throat. Had he really said that? Out loud? To Karofsky? He hadn't meant to — God knew he didn't mean to. Maybe Karofsky didn't hear...

"What?" he asked in an almost comically bewildered tone.

"Nothing."

"You really think he doesn't love you? Or that him going off to New York is gonna make him stop?"

"I didn't say that."

"You did. Look, I may not be Kurt's best friend, but I think I know him a little by now, and... Fuck, Blaine, if that's how you really feel you need to talk to him so—"

"I do _not_ 'have' to do anything, thank you," Blaine said coldly. "Least of all take relationship advice from a stalker."

He'd hoped that Dave would become angry, defensive — but once again (and not for the last time), he was surprised and disappointed. Apparently Karofsky's confusion filtered out Blaine's intent. "But why? Why the hell are you acting like Kurt's going to—"

"We're here." He sounded painfully eager as Dave's house came into view, but it was also true that they had bigger, more immediate things to worry about at the moment. Indeed, just being back at his home made Dave stiffen with nerves. He parked in the shadow of a large tree two houses down, just in case. Blaine exhaled and turned to Dave. "How do you want to handle this?"

"I guess we should start in my room... or what used to be my room." It was easy to tell that he was thinking about what had happened that afternoon; Blaine was thinking about the same thing. "There's a tree in back that's easy to climb. There's a good strong branch that just about touches the roof outside my bedroom window. Az used to do it all the time, and he's not exactly Princess Graceful. Usually, my window's unlocked, but after our, uh, visit, Dad probably locked it. Shouldn't be a problem breaking it, though; you can hardly hear what's going on up there from the rest of the house. That's why I took it in the first place."

_Though his dad heard him try to hang himself... _ Blaine shook his head. "So do you want to do it, or should I?"

Dave paused, considering. "You, probably. You're lighter. With my fat ass, I'd probably break every branch on the way down."

Kurt had complained quite a bit about Dave's self-esteem lately, which used to strike Blaine as funny; Dave and guys like him thought they were the cock of the walk, right? But hearing that now... It wasn't just a fish for a compliment (after all, what use would Dave have for Blaine's compliments?) — there was a quiet, resigned sincerity that couldn't be hidden by a jocular candy coating. It was weird, shocking, oddly heartbreaking... If the day hadn't already been so full of cognitive dissonance, Blaine might've been tempted to probe further. But at the moment, all he could say was, "I haven't climbed a tree in years."

"Like I said, this one'll be easy. Don't worry, if you fall, I'll catch ya."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"

"Yep. You're on your own, dude." Dave grinned wickedly, and Blaine couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, fine. Let's get this done before I change my mind."

As it turned out, it wasn't nearly as bad as Blaine had feared. He only needed the slightest boost from Dave to get onto the first branch (and even then, he almost overshot the mark — the kid was strong, he'd give him that), and from there, it was almost like climbing a ladder. It was as though the tree had burst forth from the ground for the sole purpose of offering a direct route to the eave above. Soon Blaine was creeping carefully along the eave, afraid that footsteps would be heard by the people inside (he could barely hear a TV, and some low chatter; whether from the viewers or the set itself, he couldn't be certain).

Blaine tried the window; to his surprise, it was unlocked. Perhaps their appearance had rattled Paul Karofsky more than they'd thought. But convenient for him.

Once inside, he switched on his flashlight. Yes, the attic room was still full of dusty boxes, suitcases, and knickknacks, without a trace of the bedroom he'd personally seen. He carefully inched his way between the piles and stacks, lest even the slightest wrong movement knock something over and alert what were probably paranoid, and maybe even armed, homeowners. He had no idea what he was even looking for, let alone where it could be; if he had to search through boxes, he could be there all night, making himself and Dave sitting ducks for whatever sadistic bastard is behind all of this...

Finally, his light caught it, sitting atop one of the boxes, anomalously modern and clean amongst the old and long untouched items. Blaine picked it up; it was an iPhone, just sitting there as if waiting for its owner to return. Nodding to himself, he slipped it into his pocket, and was back out in the cool night air within moments.

Dave was there as he jumped down from the lowest branch, having waited pressed up against the tree to avoid being seen. "Did you find anything?" he asked anxiously.

"I think so." He handed over the phone.

Dave swiped his finger across the screen; colored light played on his face as it burst to life. Another few moments, and he nodded. "Yeah, this is mine." He paused. "And it still works. How the fuck is that possible?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's magic."

"Yeah, but even magic has to make fucking _sense_, doesn't it?"

"Probably does, somehow. Hell if I know how. Maybe Tina could tell us." The memory came back to him. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Almost ten."

"We've got to meet her back at her house, remember? Here, as long as you have your phone back..." He snatched it from Dave's grasp and quickly programmed in a number. "Here's mine. Give me and Tina yours when we meet with her."

Dave took back his phone with a wry grin. "Never thought I'd see the day where I'd have your number in my phone."

"Yeah, well, today's just been full of surprises, hasn't it? Just don't read too much into it, okay?"

"Don't have to worry about _that_."

* * *

Somewhere, someone brooded.

"Hmph. I should've known Puck would be useless."

"Damn Tina. If it weren't for her and her charms, I'd know exactly where those two are all the time."

"But those three idiots — heh — have to make a mistake sooner or later."

"I still hold all the cards."

"Look at me, talking to myself... But when this much is at stake, who wouldn't go a little crazy...?"

"All I have to do is be patient."

"I can fix this."

"I can get everything back."

"No, I can get _more_... Be better than before..."

"And all it'll cost is just a couple of lives..."

"A couple of useless, worthless lives..."

"Then I'll have a good strong foundation..."

"For _my_ future..."


	5. Unpleasant Memories

Tina was waiting for them at the back door by the time they returned to her house. "Be real quiet. My parents have hearing like you wouldn't believe," she hissed. "I've lost track of how many times they've intercepted Mike. Hurry!"

Only when they were safely closed up in her bedroom did her voice return to normal volume. "Did you find the tokens?"

Dave nodded, patting his pocket. "What about you? Do you know what we have to do to get me back into reality?"

"I think so. I still need a few more obscure ingredients."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Where? Isn't it getting kind of late to do any more shopping?"

"Oh, I already got the stuff you can buy in stores. The rest I have to actually gather."

"In nature?" Dave asked skeptically.

Tina rolled her eyes. "No, at the local Witch-Mart. Yes, in nature! Fresh components are the most potent in magical power anyway."

Dave stared for a moment; Blaine caught himself actually doing the same before shaking himself out of it. "I'll take your word for it," he said.

"We'll both have to hurry," Tina continued. "I'm getting a little worried about how long Dave's hold on reality can last."

Both boys shifted nervously. "You think... I might disappear? Like for real?" Dave asked tentatively.

Tina shook her head slowly. "I'm not sure. But Blaine and those tokens are the only tether to existence you have right now. That's really fragile, and the spell is probably still going. And don't forget the magician; he — or she — is probably still working against you right now. If he manages to break any of the bonds..."

Blaine swallowed; Dave paled. "I... get the picture," Dave said. "So what should we do?"

"Find that last token," Tina said firmly. "That's the best way you can help." She began to rise from her chair. "I should probably get moving. It'll take a while to find the right kind of thistle in the dark. I just wanted to make sure you guys were still okay, and—" She stopped, blinking. She looked down to see Dave's hand on her arm. She sank back down.

"I need to tell you something first."

Tina cocked her head in curiosity; Blaine stared in confusion.

Dave took an audible breath and continued. "I... need to tell you who I am... was. You should know what kind of guy you're risking your life for."

Blaine's jaw dropped. "Dave..."

"No, I have to do this." He turned back to Tina with an intense, serious set on his face. "She deserves the truth."

And he told her. He actually told her everything — the shoves, the taunts, driving Kurt from McKinley, his suicide attempt — even stuff Blaine didn't know about, even the big why: his sexuality. Actually, not everything — he skipped the kiss. But Blaine got the distinct impression that was more for Kurt's sake than his own, which brought up all sorts of conflicting thoughts.

Tina sat listening quietly until Dave was finally done. His broad shoulders were slumped, as if he were drained; Blaine was feeling a little peaked himself, and he hadn't even said a word. Finally, Tina turned to him. "Is this true?"

Blaine nodded. "Yes."

"And you're still helping him?" He nodded again. "Why?"

That was a very good question. "It's... the right thing to do." He winced at the falseness and hollowness of his words, but what else could he say? That he was so far drawn into this madness that he had to either sink or swim? That he _wanted_ to turn his back on Dave, on everything, if only for his own sanity, but knew that said sanity would be in question and attacked even if he did? That he still wasn't 100% sure that Dave even deserved to exist?

On the other hand, the fact that Kurt apparently still had to leave McKinley even without Dave threw that last bit into a little question — at least more than existed before. Maybe Kurt was having an effect on him; he was certainly starting to believe that Dave really wasn't the guy he thought he was. Would that guy have even thought of telling Tina, someone whose help he needed to _stay existent_, any of what he'd done to her, to her friends?

Tina's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "That was very..."

"Stupid?" Dave asked with a wry half-grin.

"... Brave."

Dave reddened, turning half away from her. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"No, I mean it. You probably could've gotten through this without ever telling me the truth. It doesn't look like Blaine would've said anything if you hadn't." Blaine was actually startled to realize that this was true. "That goes a long way to make me believe that you really have changed." She paused in thought for a moment. "Besides, I don't know Dave the bully. I just know you. If you say you're not really him... I don't have any reason not to believe you yet."

Dave swallowed, his eyes still downcast, but his face was red. Of all the frankly unbelievable things Blaine had seen and experienced in the past twelve hours, this had almost no supernatural element to it, but it was still one of the most shocking to his sense of the world.

"I mean, I don't like what you say you did to us, but you seem like you're at least trying to make it right."

"That's just because you don't remember experiencing any of it," Dave said quietly, exactly reflecting what Blaine was thinking.

Tina shrugged. "Maybe that makes me more objective. I don't know. But you need my help right now, and I can't see any reason to turn you down." She smiled a little. "Besides, I've never gotten to practice real magic before. It's kind of fun." The smile slipped away. "Wait, you said 'risk my life'...?"

Blaine and Dave glanced at each other. Tentatively, the two told her about their run-in with Puck. By the time they finished, Tina was pale — more so than usual.

"Mind control... The magician's a lot more powerful than I thought. And a lot more corrupt."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked.

"Mind control is a real no-no in magic. Anything that takes away free will is considered the worst thing you can do to someone without actually physically harming them. If the magician is using it to attack us, he's working with some seriously dark power here. Whoever he is, he's either completely evil or completely insane."

A shudder jolted its way through Blaine's spine; he glanced over at Dave, who looked even whiter than Tina. Blaine's hand unconsciously went to his chest. "Then those charms you gave us...?"

"Are probably the only thing keeping you from calling up the magician or killing us both. Don't worry, though; mind control is a pretty concentration-heavy spell. He won't be able to zap more than one person, and not for very long."

"You're telling us _now_ not to worry?!" Dave asked in disbelief. He glanced at the bedroom door. "What about...?"

"Give me _some_ credit," Tina said smugly. "I've already hidden charms all over this house."

"Nice," Dave said in frank and plainly startled admiration. Blaine didn't say that he felt vaguely the same. In a group with people like Rachel and Kurt, Tina tended to fade into the background just from the sheer force of the more outsized personalities. But when she was alone, when she was in her element... It was an eye-opener, one of many he'd experienced in just the past half day.

Tina rose. "We should all get moving," she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. "I've got your numbers, and we'll keep in touch."

"So what do we do once we have the tokens and you have your materials?" Blaine asked.

"I've been working on finding the magician's location. It's his focus of power; we'll need to be there if we're going to have a chance of undoing his spell."

"You mean... confront him?" Blaine wouldn't have thought that Dave would ever look reluctant to go up against someone else... But then, this was hardly a normal person they were dealing with. The thought filled him with trepidation as well.

Tina shrugged. "We'll have to do it eventually anyway. If we leave him alone, he can just do this all over again — and do it right. I've prepared some countermagic, but..." She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "We'll deal with that when we're ready. Right now, we're nowhere near ready. You guys find that last token." She cracked open her bedroom door and peered out. "Feel free to stay until you've figured out where it is. Just don't make any noise. If my parents catch you, tell them you forgot something the last time you were here, and that I... I dunno, went out. If it's my dad, tell him I went to buy tampons. That'll get him running in the other direction." Without waiting for a reply, Tina went out into the hall and gently shut the door behind her, leaving Blaine and Dave alone.

"So..." Blaine started.

"So..." Dave echoed.

There was just too much between them to really get anything going. That and the whole insane situation they'd been tossed into made everything... awkward, to say the least. Blaine hated awkward; it was his least favorite mood. With almost anything else, you at least had options, had actions, could get away from it. But awkward... The whole _point_ was that you didn't quite know what to do, what it was best to do. That was why he avoided it whenever humanly possible, and it was definitely _not_ here.

Nothing to do, then, but address the most pressing issue at hand. "Do you think you know where the third token is?"

Dave let out a breath. "I... think I have an idea."

"Let me guess: Scandals?"

"I thought about that, but I hadn't been going all that long when I ran into you guys. I don't know if it has the emotional ties that Tina said it needed." He sighed. "I think I have a better idea. But you're not going to like it."

Blaine had no idea what Dave was talking about, but he already didn't like it.

* * *

"Welcome to Breadstix!" the waitress said chirpily. "Table for two?"

Dave nodded, his face already red, his eyes darting from side to side. Blaine rolled his own eyes at Dave's cowardice. Didn't the idiot realize that even if anyone stared, no one would know who he was?

Some small part of him reminded him about 8th grade, but he ignored it.

"Actually..." Dave's voice broke in as the waitress turned. "We want a specific table. That one over there." He pointed.

The waitress shrugged. "Sure! No problem." She led them to the booth Dave had pointed out and gave them both menus. "Let me know if you have any questions about our specials tonight." She hurried off.

"I think she thinks we're dating," Dave joked weakly.

"Great," Blaine said sourly.

Dave took the opportunity to duck underneath the table. "I don't feel anyth— wait, I think I have something!" He popped back up like a gopher, beaming. Then he looked down at what was in his hand, and his face collapsed like a punctured souffle.

It was a Valentine, a cheap but cheerful little card with a cartoon bee on it. "Bee Mine", it said.

"And you knew it would be in this particular booth because...?" Blaine asked coldly. Dave didn't reply; he didn't have to. "You know he'll _never_ love you."

Blaine wasn't even sure what kind of reaction he wanted from Dave, if he wanted one at all. Rage? Tears? It certainly wasn't what he got: resignation. "I know."

"What's he ever felt towards you?" Blaine knew, somewhere deep inside him, how cruel he was being, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Later, he would blame fear, blame stress, but even then, he knew that it wasn't entirely true. Maybe he was just saying all the things he'd wanted to say the previous year, just releasing emotions that had built up in that time like steam in a pressure cooker. "Hate? Fear? Pity? What kind of relationship could you build on that?"

"I _know_!" Dave snarled through clenched teeth.

"I'll never understand why he reached out to you..."

"Finally, one fucking thing we have in common!" Dave jerked his napkin open, spilling the silverware onto the table in a chorus of tinny clinks, and wiped his sweating face with it.

"What do you want, Karofsky?"

"I want to fucking exist, that's what I want..."

"That's not what I mean!" Blaine hissed. There was something about being _there_, at that table, at the very table where Dave Karofsky declared his love for _his_ boyfriend, that opened some kind of door in his mind. "What do you want from Kurt? Are you still trying to get him to be your boyfriend?"

"I...!" The anger drained from Dave's face between heartbeats. He frowned. "I... I don't know... I never expected him to come to the hospital. I..."

"Just because he felt sorry for you and came to see you doesn't mean he's in love with you."

"I _said_ I know that! Shit, I hope that's not the way you act towards Kurt!"

Blaine's voice descended into an arctic chill. "What's the way you hope I don't act towards Kurt?"

"Like you're not even listening to me! I've been saying all fucking day that I know I was a shithead, towards Kurt and a lot of other people! What the fuck more do you want?"

"For you to just...!" Even in his anger, Blaine knew better than to say the next words he wanted to say. _Go away_. After all, he didn't mean it like _that_... right? "Just... stay away from Kurt!"

"He can't be my friend if he wants to be?"

"Not when you and I both know that you want to be more than fucking _friends_."

"I'm dealing with that! You really think I'd—"

"Besides, Kurt always was too trusting for his own good."

Dave frowned. "Does he know what you think of him?"

"He knows that I love him," Blaine said loftily. "That's all that matters."

"But he _doesn't_ know you think he's gonna abandon you when he's in New York."

Blaine flushed. "That's not what I said...!"

"Even if you didn't say those exact words, that's what you _were_ saying," Dave snapped. "Why don't you want to talk about it with him? It's obvious it bothers you..."

"What I want doesn't matter."

"Seriously? For someone who thinks that what he wants doesn't matter you sure think about it a lot."

"What the fuck would you know about Kurt? All you ever do is bring him pain!"

"You forget, I've known him a lot longer than you. I know a _hell_ of a lot about him... Even if I thought that the best things about him were the worst." Dave paused a moment, as if mulling over that revelation, before continuing. "I just want Kurt to be happy..."

Blaine laughed scornfully. "And you say you're not in love with him."

"I'm not denying that!" Dave growled. "But I'm going to leave him alone because I know you're fucking right that I'm not good enough for him!" He regarded Blaine coolly. "But I thought I'd be doing that knowing that he would be someone who was actually _good_ for him."

Blaine's temper flared. "How _dare_ you question my feelings for Kurt!"

"Are you even listening to _yourself_? You don't even think he's going to stand by you when he leaves!"

"He's _not!_" It took all of Blaine's willpower to keep from screaming. As it was, his throat burned from the suppressed volume.

"Shit, Blaine, how could you think that of him...?"

"It's not his fault! It's just going to _happen_. I'm going to be _here_, in fucking _Ohio_, _alone_..."

"What about the rest of the glee club...?"

Blaine snorted at Dave's naivete. "They care about Kurt, not me." Dave opened his mouth to speak, but Blaine ran over his intended words with his own. "And Kurt's going to be in _New York_, Karofsky!" he snapped. "Big city! Thousands of eligible gay men! What _else_ is he going to do?"

"Uh... Stay loyal to his boyfriend? Whom he loves?"

"Oh, God, you are so naive. Let me let you in on a little truth, Karofsky: Everybody. Leaves. You can't depend on anyone. They say they care, but when push comes to shove, nobody cares about anyone else. They're all just looking out for themselves, so why should I be any different? Why should I be the one who's left out in the cold like a loyal puppy dog waiting for his master to come home while everyone else gets to live out their dreams?

"I am _alone_. So are you! So is everyone! Who do you think helped me get to where I am today? No one! I have _no one_ to depend on but myself. My mom left. My brother went off to be some fucking Z-grade actor, never mind the home he knew he was leaving me to. Do you think he ever even _thinks_ about me in Hollywood? He doesn't even think I'm worthwhile to _know_. My dad just wants me to follow in his fucking footsteps, to hell with what I want! My boyfriend is going off to leave me alone, and he doesn't even care! It's all NYADA this and NYADA that, never mind we're going to be thousands of miles apart! My friends? My so-called _friends_ let a sociopath toss a salted Slushie into my _face_. So excuse the _fuck_ out of me for thinking about myself, because _nobody_ else is _ever_ going to."

Blaine was actually panting by the end. There was a lot in his speech that he'd never vocalized... never even thought to himself. But now that it was out there, now that it was said... Not a single word of it wasn't the truth.

Finally, his attention focused on Dave. He was open-mouthed, staring in what looked like shock. What the hell was he so surprised about?

"Dude..." he finally said. "You've got issues."

"Fuck you!"

"No, really. I mean, I know fucked up, and..." He shook his head. "Goddamn, you really need to talk about this shit before it eats you up inside."

There was real concern in Karofsky's voice, real pity. That's what enraged Blaine the most. How dare he? How dare he _feel sorry_ for him? _Blaine Anderson_ should be pitying _Dave Karofsky_, not the other way around! Dave, who tried to hang himself and had no idea how the world fucking _worked_... "I don't need psychoanalysis from a bully."

"I'm serious, Blaine. If not Kurt, then _someone_. I used to think therapy was for losers, but my dad got me a doctor that—"

_Dave_ thought _he_ needed therapy? If he weren't so angry, he would've laughed in his face. "Shut up!" Blaine hissed, loud enough for a few of the closest neighboring tables to glance a moment in their direction. "How can you not understand this? What happened to _your_ friends, huh? The guys you thought were your buddies at your new school? Azimio Adams was your _best_ friend, right? Since you were kids? What happened to _him_? What happened to your own_ mother_, Dave?" Dave reddened, his fists tightening on the cold wood table. That was better. Anger, especially from a caveman like Dave... It was so much easier to take than his pity. "If anyone gave a _damn_ about you, do you really think you would've tried to hang yourself?"

That was it. He'd gone too far, and he knew it. Maybe he'd gone too far a while ago. But that didn't stop him from saying it. It certainly didn't stop his anger.

Dave gaped. "Holy shit, you really are throwing that in my face..."

Blaine's voice lowered — not out of any consideration for others, but out of a cold, mean rage. "You think I care? You push defenseless kids around, but you can't take a few words slung in your direction. You stalk someone you know is taken. You think you _deserve_ anyone's consideration? You are _pitiful_, David Karofsky."

"Fine." His eyes glittering and cold, Dave pushed himself to his feet. "_Fine_." His jaw worked, as if wanting to say more, but couldn't push it through his own anger.

Blaine also rose, his jaw aching from tension. "I hope you _do_ fucking disappear! Forever! _Everyone_ would be better off!"

The words finally penetrated his fury. The dam broke, sending the cool rush of sanity back into his mind... along with the memories.

_I can't believe this fucking fag was pretending to be normal!_

_Did you really think you'd get away with checking us out behind our backs, Anderson?_

_You deserve all the beatings you get, and more!_

_I hope you fucking go away. Forever. You think anyone is ever gonna miss you?_

"Oh God..." He just wished someone would die._ Like those bastards wanted me to..._ Despite everything, he was still a human being. He knew — he fucking _knew_ — what kind of person hated someone else enough to wish them to die. Was he really that kind of person? Deep down, was he really? If the remorse flooding through him were any sign, the answer was no. "Dave, I..." But he was speaking to thin air. Judging by the looks some other patrons were giving the door, he'd already stomped out.

As if he were never actually ever there.

**AN: Just a reminder that these two young men are _not_ friends. They have a lot of reasons, legitimate and otherwise, to absolutely hate each other. So they had to hit rock bottom and lay all their cards on the table before they ever had a chance to resolve this situation, let alone get along.**

**This was rock bottom.**


End file.
